


41st Batch

by Cyberrat



Series: Fic Batches [41]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Overwatch (Video Game), Stardew Valley (Video Game), The Witcher (TV), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fisting, Batches, Blow Jobs, Cock & Ball Torture, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Impregnation, M/M, Pony Play, Pregnancy Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 09:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27468826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: ch.1 McCree/Hanzo | ch.2 McCree/Hanzo | ch.3 Shimadacest | ch.4 Shimadacest | ch.5 Geralt/Jaskier | ch.6 Geralt/Jaskier | ch.7 Reinhardt/Ana | ch.8 Geralt/Ciri | ch.9 Bruce/Jason | ch.10 Reaper/Soldier76 | ch.11 Shane/Slime | ch.12 Bruce/Jason | ch.13 Endeavor/Hawks | ch.14 Reinhardt/Soldier76 | ch.15 Endeavor/Shoto
Relationships: Ana Amari/Reinhardt Wilhelm, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Hanzo Shimada/Sojiro Shimada, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reinhardt Wilhelm, Takami Keigo | Hawks/Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor/Todoroki Shouto
Series: Fic Batches [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1268996
Comments: 7
Kudos: 188





	1. McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree/Hanzo – pony Hanzo AU; direct continuation; rimming; blowjob; Jesse McCree’s hairy, sweaty ass crack – Hanzo still is not sated.
> 
> Prequel: B40F1  
> Sequel: B42F5

Jesse feels a bit numb when he returns to his car to start unloading the stuff he’s bought in the city. He keeps thinking of Hanzo kneeling beneath the donkey and satisfying their urges. He walks with a limp as he carries crates into the tiny storage room they got, his cock a hard line down his leg.

After a few minutes he can hear the water hose going, which is presumably Hanzo washing off the animal cum he had splashed all over his face.

Jesse pauses briefly, stretched up to put a small box full of matches and tissues up on a high shelf. He has to think again of the Gorge. He thinks about it a lot, if he is honest with himself. The things he did. The things others did. And, of course, inevitably: Hanzo.

Part of him had thought – maybe even hoped – that Hanzo would just have put that time behind him, but the Gorge has marked him just as much as it has dug its claws into Jesse. Maybe even more so.

Arms wrap around him from behind, startling him enough that he nearly fumbles the box to fall down on them. It’s Hanzo. Of course it is fucking him, who else would it be? He’s dragged him out into the middle of the desert with no company but that of a few animals that he’s now grown even closer to than to Jesse himself, and-

Hanzo’s hands are at his belt, calmly, easily opening it as if it is normal. Jesse’s breath hitches; while he does molest Hanzo on the regular, it has never been Hanzo initiating it. Not really.

“What’re ya up to?” he rasps, but Hanzo does not reply – of course. They could very well have cut out his tongue without Jesse knowing if he hadn’t seen it in his mouth when he laughs; red and silky and pretty looking right behind those sharp teeth.

His belt buckle jingles loud in the tiny, cramped room. There are slits in the boards that allow him to look outside into the arid wasteland while he slowly curls his hands around the edges of the boards and just… lets Hanzo do whatever he wants to do.

Within moments his dirty jeans slide down and his cock, still hard from watching Hanzo pleasure a donkey, swings out like an overstuffed sausage. It is drooping from its own weight, swinging between his thighs. Hanzo’s fingertips dance along the shaft briefly before vanishing again.

Jesse’s legs are kicked apart and he closes his eyes, swallowing hard. He holds on tighter to the shelf, adrenaline spiking. It feels even worse than the few times he’s been arrested. At least then he had never had to fear someone was going to bite his goddamn cock off.

Hanzo’s knees hit the floor behind him with a soft thump. Seconds later, his hairy cheeks are being palmed and squeezed and then pulled apart. A wild bark of a laugh is stuck in his throat somewhere when he imagines himself in his tiny storage shed standing with his pants around his thighs and Hanzo inspecting the ungodly sweaty mess of his hairy ass crack.

There’s a low sound behind him that he identifies as Hanzo humming. Jesse doesn’t think Hanzo could have been more eerie if he tried. He inhales, breath hitching half-way through, brain feeling hot and swollen in his skull. He tries to think of something – anything – to say. He wonders if Hanzo completely lost it in the few days Jesse has left him completely alone with just the animals for company.

Then Hanzo stuffs his face into his crack and he grunts, brain flatlining as he stumbles a tiny step forward and fights to keep on his legs.

“Holy shit-”

The garbled mess must have come from him but he couldn’t say for sure. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a hot little mouth and greedy tongue on his ass. He wonders if it has even ever happened or if it’s just the product of years of jumbled fantasies while jerking it.

He tries to imagine what it must feel like; taste like; to have his face stuffed in an ass like Jesse’s, but he comes up short, not least of all because Hanzo is so _insistent_ about it. He presses hard enough that Jesse has to actively push against it if he doesn’t want to rip down the rackety shelf of the storage room. He can’t put a leg up to brace himself against a crate, so he ends up almost squatting over Hanzo, his sack draped over the li’l critter’s chin while that hot tongue greedily pushes against his pouty rim again and again.

Trying to tease it to loosen up for him. Let him inside.

What the Hell. What the actual, goddamn Hell-

Hanzo pulls back with a gasp like a man breaking through the water’s surface. There’s no hesitation, no waiting – no question for Jesse’s consent, as he easily, gently pushes two fingers into him, aided by the slick of sweat and drool liberally left in the hairy crack.

Jesse grunts, going up onto the balls of his feet. It’s not enough, of course. It never seems to be enough with Hanzo these days. He shifts around, forcing himself between Jesse’s body and the crates.

Jesse looks down, staring at him with what he assumes must be a very wild gaze. He does not feel completely in charge of his own body as he gets slowly fucked on two of Hanzo’s thick fingers – not unlike what he does to him when he is bored and has him across his lap; fingering slow, relentless orgasms out of him for his amusement.

Hanzo holds his gaze as he moves down and opens his mouth. Shows him those sharp, straight teeth. The wet undulation of his silky tongue behind.

Jesse’s breath hitches. There is a moment of unadulterated fear that shoots right into his bones and has him nearly loose control of his bladder.

Hanzo’s fingers twist in his ass, pressing on his prostate. Keeping him nice and hard for him to start lapping at the tip of Jesse’s heavy erection, tonguing at the slip of foreskin still covering the crown.

Jesse feels like his eyes are about to bug out of his head as he watches Hanzo curl his free hand around the thick shaft to lift his cock, using his lips to push the foreskin back as he slips the tip into his mouth.

His heart is beating a fast tattoo against his chest. Hanzo has to feel it pulsing against his tongue, too. If he didn’t know better, Jesse’d say that Hanzo is grinning, feline and self-satisfied as he drags his velvety tongue against his piss slit. There’s not a hint of teeth.

Jesse’s relief is palpable. All encompassing. So large and immense and euphoric that he doesn’t realize he is coming until he hears the thick swallow of Hanzo’s and looks down just in time to see the li’l critter’s eyes flutter shut while cum slow as lava pulses over his tongue and down his throat.

Jesse reaches down with a trembling hand, cupping the side of Hanzo’s face when he eventually pulls back, a thick strand of saliva-mixed-with-cum still connecting the tip of Jesse’s erection to Hanzo’s wet bottom lip. He slowly rubs his thumb against the aristocratic high cheek bone, staring down right into Hanzo’s bottomless, dark eyes.

They’d looked animalistic and wild back in the Gorge when he had been trussed up as a pony and made to endure their affections. They look velvety and warm now, kneeling on the dirty floor of their tiny storage cupboard.

“Ye’re busy today, aren’t ya?” he rasps.

Hanzo smiles close-mouthed and secretive.


	2. McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree/Hanzo – Alpha/Alpha verse; rimming; gaping; dirty talk; (fake) pregnancy (talk); as in, they can’t get pregnant but McCree loves to run his dirty mouth – right what it says on the tin, baby!
> 
> Prequel: B40F2

When Hanzo’s awareness starts to swim back to the surface he is first and foremost aware of a big warm tongue patiently pressing into his aching, puffy hole. It takes a few tries – as if trying to start an old, rusting lawn mower – to figure out that it had to be Jesse. He’s not completely sure, but the rasp of a beard and the coolness of a metal hand on his thigh are telling enough that he does not try to rouse himself to anything more than sleepy half-awareness.

The past few days are a vague awareness. A lot of fucking. A lot of McCree being an animalistic bastard; holding Hanzo down and making him take it again and again. Pressing knot after knot after knot into his over stimulated, over enduring body to make him keep it nice and hot while the rutting Alpha geared up for yet another round.

It’s as much of a nightmare as it is a dream. Hanzo’s mouth twitches into a smug little smile. He’s fantasized about something like this since he presented. Being just another hole for another Alpha to use. Being just the perfect candidate for someone to push load after load into…

His body is vaguely protesting of its weird use but the dull ache radiating through his body only really registers as ‘triumph’ in his brain.

The overbearing scent of a rutting Alpha has simmered down to a more palatable degree. McCree probably is still on the tailends of his rut, but the brunt of it has moved past them finally. In all honesty, Hanzo doesn’t know if he could have taken another day of brutal rut fuck.

What he is getting now is so much better… McCree’s big slobbery tongue pushes into him softly, tonguing against his loose rim and rubbing up against his hot intestines. He wishes he could have more of it, honestly.

As he thinks it, McCree pulls back – of course he does. Hanzo grunts in annoyance; but at least the other Alpha stays close enough that he can feel the hot puffs of air against his ruined hole as he speaks.

“Never seen a hole so goddamn sloppy.” McCree’s usually smooth drawl has become rough from the rut and too little liquid. It feels like it is scraping right against Hanzo’s nerve endings, setting his body into a confusing bout of tingles. His nipples become hard peaks against the bedding, causing him to vaguely squirm just to feel the pleasure shoot through his body.

“S probably why Alphas aren’t made for it…” he sounds more thoughtful now. As if barely talking to Hanzo anymore. There are thick fingers at his rim, slowly pushing against it. A short picture flashes through Hanzo’s head: McCree staring intently into the red ruined gape with that sleepy, heavy lidded gaze of his. He flushes and ducks his head some, but keeps listening to the low, rough murmur.

“Could prolly fist you right now… but I won’t. Can’t be too rough with a new mommy can’t I? ‘Cause there’s no way that didn’t take… pumped it so deep in your belly, don’t think we’ll ever see that again. Just need to work it into a cute li’l pup, right?”

Hanzo is a bit shocked about his own reaction, the low groan seemingly ripped out right from some depths he hadn’t known existed. He’s never had a breeding kink – being an Alpha who likes getting pounded by other Alphas – but damn… damn if McCree’s lewd filth slowly dripping over him isn’t doing it for him.

McCree is a weirdly gifted speaker. It’s honestly a little disturbing.

“Hmmm but what if it didn’t take? Maybe I should really make sure…”

Hanzo doesn’t really process the words until he can feel McCree starting to crawl up his body, blanketing his back once again. His breath hitches, hands curling into the bedding into fists. He feels like the coarse hair covering McCree’s front must have given him some second degree burns by now. His back feels about as tender as his hole.

He also can’t believe Jesse has yet another round left in him… but the big warm cock sliding against the insides of his thighs tells a different story.

“Hey there,” McCree rumbles right against Hanzo’s ear as he slowly lies down on him, crushing him into the bed. “Ready for another round? Wanna make sure it takes…”

Hanzo wheezes low; there’s not much more he can do when McCree is lying on him like that. The Alpha is big and goddamn heavy. He does not seem to require any real answer anyway. He is humming low and happy as if Hanzo had given him a whole-hearted _yes_ , and starts to move his hips in a slow twisting motion to find the ruined gape of his hole without having to reach down and help his dick along the way.

It doesn’t surprise Hanzo when he manages the feat.

“There you go,” Jesse breathes on a long, satisfied exhale, breath tickling Hanzo’s ear and the small hairs on the back of his neck. Jesse’s cock is wet as if he had thought of smearing it in lube beforehand. The glide is smooth and easy and prickles right along Hanzo’s spine, settling at the base of his neck.

“Gonna put the prettiest pup in ya,” Jesse keeps murmuring. It’s slow and indulgent just like his hips pushing that big Alpha cock into Hanzo and rubbing it along his aching insides. “Gonna have your hair ‘n eyes ‘n stupid li’l smile…” He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against the back of Hanzo’s shoulder.

It’s a weirdly soft moment that makes him want to squirm and elbow McCree off of him – right until he suddenly continues: “Gonna pump your belly so damn full with my cum… can’t wait for ya to waddle around with it, show everyone how ya let a mut knock ya up. Can’t wait to fuck you with your big stomach…”

Hanzo gasps out half a laugh, his ears burning. He’s pretty sure McCree’s mumbling would have made him want to strangle him if he weren’t high on the dull ache of a rut mating and the renewed tingles prickling up his spine from the slow, intense fuck now.

The mix of sweet-and-filthy is giving him whiplash.

“Can’t believe ya let me do this,” Jesse mutters. It sounds a bit more… sane than his other ramblings. “Can’t believe you’d let me mount up so fuckin’ often. You should see your goddamn’ hole, Shimada. It’s a fuckin’ ruin. Fuck, you’re so stretched… Wanna… wanna take my knot again? Huh?”

Hanzo wouldn’t be able to get a word in edge-wise even if he had been able to speak, buried beneath the thick bulk of the other Alpha. Jesse’s hips are fucking marginally faster now, slapping against Hanzo’s backside. He is vaguely aware of the swell of McCree’s knot, but it does not feel as impossibly huge as it has at other times. He really must be stretched out…

“Do it!” he croaks, his own cock stuck in the bedding, weeping into the fabric and making it cling to the slick, hot crown. Tears of overstimulation are burning the corners of his eyes. “Do it! Damn you!”

Jesse _does_ do it.

It’s the perfect finale to a frankly embarrassingly perfect set of days spent in a fucked-out daze.


	3. Hanzo/Guard; Shimadacest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo/Guard; Shimadacest – Zoom Verse; Genji had a relapse; dirty talk/berating – Genji is slow on the uptake so Sojiro explains it to him once and for all. (Direct continuation in next fill).
> 
> Prequel: B40F6  
> Sequel: B41F4

Sojiro’s expression is flat despite the room filled with the thick scent of sex and his eldest son’s low grunts. His fingers are folded against each other on the table, a few fat, ostentatious rings glinting on them.

Genji is trying his best to stand still and upright and not fidget under the black-eyed, flat stare but he has trouble dealing with that most of the time and with the last dredges of alcohol in his system it is nigh impossible not to let his gaze flick to Hanzo again and again.

Sweat is starting to bead at his brow. It is so damn _hot_ in this room.

The minutes draw long as Sojiro regards him gravely, visibly laying out in his head what he has to say to his youngest.

The guard railing Hanzo is doing so with an expression of intense concentration. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw every now and then from him clenching his jaw so tight. It almost looks like a chore to fuck Hanzo, but Genji is absolutely certain that it is anything but. By now he’s seen that silky hole stretched around all manner of cock (and vaguely cock-shaped objects) and he just knows with every fiber of his being that it’ll suckle dick like a hot little mouth.

He just knows.

It haunts him. It haunts him every waking minute of every day, which is how… this… happened.

“So,” Sojiro says suddenly. Genji almost jumps but can keep from doing so. He slowly curls his hands into fists at his sides, then forces himself to relax them once more. He stares at his father’s hard face while Hanzo’s legs are bouncing in the air as he gets fucked on the single couch in the room as if it were normal.

For him it probably is; that’s what Genji has been able to figure out by now, at least.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Sojiro continues gravely.

Genji purses his lips and looks down, staring at his father’s hands because he can’t really look him in the eye as he says: “I am a disgrace…”

“No!” Genji’s gaze snaps back up, staring at his father’s flaming eyes as Sojiro unfolds his hands and slams one of them on the top of the desk just for emphasis. “No,” he repeats a bit more quiet but with just as much emphasize. “You are a _Shimada_. You are my _son_ ,” Sojiro elaborates after a beat of silence. His face becomes marginally softer, but that doesn’t mean much if one considers that it is made out of granite.

“You are a Shimada, and you are just as much a pride and joy as Hanzo is,” Sojiro says, his hand moving to point toward the general direction of his eldest getting railed in slow but hard thrusts. Hanzo has his head put back, throat on display. It is flushed down to his tits.

Genji follows the pointer, then snorts slightly. He doesn’t quite look at Hanzo, the jab of jealousy sits too hard.

“I’m just as much a pride as a whore, am I?” he says bitterly, then jumps when Sojiro’s hand slams down on top of the desk. He’s too drunk for his father’s mind games and intimidation tactics.

Sojiro’s expression has gone tight. He puts both palms against the top of his desk and slowly stands up. He looks… furious.

“Hanzo is an _asset_ ,” he says slowly but with emphasize. “He is much more than a mere _whore_. He is our most important bargain chip – his worth is immeasurable.”

Genji sneers. It is difficult to understand what the Hell his father wants to tell him when Hanzo is getting stuffed just a meter away and grunting like a pig as the guard dicks him with an honestly admirable endurance.

Sojiro’s eyes narrow slightly as he seems to be able to read Genji’s mind – as per usual.

“You both have your roles and places to fill, Genji,” he says with emphasize. “Hanzo is not only working as an… _asset_ , he is also a well-versed business man – as _he_ has spent his time studying as he had been supposed to do; rather than hopping from club to club and stumbling home drunk every night.”

Sojiro’s mouth pulls down in distaste. Genji bites the tip of his tongue to just stay quiet. He knows that trying to defend himself never goes over well.

“You don’t have many jobs, Genji. Yet. Your only task has been – and will be for the foreseeable future – to conduct yourself in a manner that befits a Shimada. A manner that will prove to me that you are ready to finally fulfill your duty as Hanzo’s…” Sojiro’s lips twist into somewhat of a smile, though it looks more like a grimace on his father’s stoic face. Genji thinks, uncharitably so, that Sojiro’s muscles might not even know what a real smile is supposed to look like. “...aide.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Genji asks, face going darker. “I thought I-”

“This is not about you,” Sojiro interrupts. He slowly straightens his back now, hands folding behind it. “Not completely. Not in the way you might think it is.”

“Then what-”

“This is about _Hanzo_.” Genji grits his teeth at being repeatedly interrupted. He can feel color starting to fill his cheeks in his agitation. He bites his tongue again, harder this time, chastising himself to not embarrass himself further.

Sojiro starts to move toward the side where Hanzo is getting railed. The guard is by now chuffing like an old engine, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. He looks like he is holding on to his orgasm by the skin of his teeth and frankly Genji doesn’t know why he doesn’t simply cream Hanzo and be done with it.

Sojiro comes to a stand beside his eldest son and reaches out, gently brushing over Hanzo’s head as if he were a child. As if he isn’t spreading his legs nigh 24/7, getting cock after cock rammed up into his guts. Genji feels a wave of… hate? no… something else. It tastes bitter at the back of his throat.

“I thought I had told you in previous of our… sessions. I thought you might have finally understood,” Sojiro murmurs. It takes Genji a few seconds to realize that he is talking to him despite looking down into Hanzo’s glassy eyes.

“Don’t you see how you are tormenting him? How hard you are making this for him?” Sojiro turns his head, his hand still gently on Hanzo. As fatherly as Genji has never seen him before. His head spins. He doesn’t think he is sober enough for this conversation. Nothing makes any sense.

“I… _I_ am tormenting _him_?” he says, voice breaking into an indignant almost-screech at the end. “What do you think _he_ is doing to _me_?!”

Sojiro’s black eyes narrow slightly. He stares at Genji, then slowly shakes his head while sighing through his nose.

“I thought I would not have to explain it to you in such excruciating detail, but very well.” He points toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sit. And _listen_ , you unruly _child_.”

Genji is almost vibrating out of his skin with anger. But he does sit.


	4. Hanzo/Guard; Shimadacest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo/Guard; Shimadacest – direct continuation of last fill
> 
> Prequel: B41F3  
> Sequel: B42F1

Sojiro does not immediately start to talk. He looks at Hanzo getting fucked with a near meditative calm before he suddenly lifts his hands and snaps his fingers.

“Stop,” he commands. The guard groans deep in his throat but complies. Genji kind of feels bad for the guy. He looks close to a heart attack. Sojiro gestures at Hanzo. “This position is boring him, can’t you see? Change it up.”

Beneath Sojiro’s calculating gaze, the guard pulls out and starts to rearrange Hanzo. His movements are jerky and quite frankly a little aggressive, but Genji can see how Hanzo is starting to perk up a little; how he eagerly grabs the armrest of the couch and arches his ass for it, waiting to be filled all over again.

The guard allows himself a few seconds of rest of just breathing deeply before he reaches for Hanzo’s hair, grabbing a hand full and sliding back into him at the same time.

Genji can see the sly glint in Hanzo’s eyes; the way he turns himself into the rough handling – _allowing_ himself to be dicked like this – and can’t help but get desperately hard for this. He clenches his thighs together, glad for his somewhat baggy shirt hiding how he is getting off on this. Again.

Sojiro watches him from the corner of his eyes. Nothing is hidden from him, of course.

“Very well.” He half-turns to Genji and gestures to Hanzo as if showing off a work of art. “Can you see this?”

Genji sneers. “Pretty hard _not_ to, right?”

“Do you think this is how it is supposed to be? Do you imagine even for a _second_ that Hanzo wouldn’t rather have _you_ servicing him than a random part of our staff?”

Genji’s face slackens a little. His eyes flick to Hanzo; when he sees those dark, intelligent eyes staring right back at him, it startles him to his core.

“Hanzo’s only ever plea has been to be with his brother,” Sojiro continues after a pause for emphasize. His face is as stony as ever, not letting Genji know any of the thoughts that might be going on behind the facade. Is this the truth or is it not? Hanzo certainly looks like it when Sojiro’s hand is back on his head, petting him like a dog while Hanzo’s expression crumbles.

Or maybe the guard has found another infuriatingly itching spot that he’s scratching with his cock as he starts to ram into Hanzo in sharp little thrusts that have skin lewdly slapping on skin.

“Do you think it is fair of you to make him wait so? Do you think it would be fair to have you defile him when you are nothing but a common…” he is visibly casting around for how to describe Genji, eventually settling on a derisive sounding: “...bar whore?”

Genji bristles, his insides clenching tight. Hanzo is hanging his head, low grunts being pushed out of him by the fucking, his fingers visibly clutching at the armrest with a white knuckled grip, cock flushed. It looks like it just needs a nice warm breath tickling to make him shoot off.

“S-Seems to me like he is managing just fine.” Genji croaks it despite his better judgement. His insides are a wild tumble of thoughts, most of all a panicked chant of _he wants me he wants me he wants me_.

Sojiro sneers. He has taken his hand off of Hanzo and is instead now folding them behind his back. He looks so impeccable… standing there in his dark, perfectly tailored suit, looking at Genji down his hooked nose. He looks like an angry deity. He’s always looked like that – especially when Genji had been small.

“He is making _do_ , Genji! Your obstinacy is driving him into the arms of all these men all around the estate. He has a _need_ and you have been continuously denying him!”

Genji’s ears are burning. He pulls his shoulders up and clenches his thighs together as his cock starts to insistently pound at the tip. Hanzo sounds like a crazed cock slut like this. Like Genji is forcing him to spread his legs for all these randos…

“I thought it is his job,” he says stubbornly. He will not let that burden be placed on his shoulders. He hasn’t done anything wrong!

“Hanzo’s duties are manifold,” Sojiro counters with cool anger, all while the guard is now picking up speed, clearly desperate to finally get Hanzo to come. Hanzo’s back stiffens, a gurgling groan spilling from somewhere deep in his gut. He is whining now with every thrust, looking like he desperately wants to orgasm but is stuck on some kind of plateau.

Sojiro continues as if nothing were amiss: “He does them – all of them, might I add – all while having these terrible… hungers, Genji. He tries – and _does_ – his best despite constantly being on the hunt to be filled, and he excels in all of them, while you…” He looks Genji up and down briefly, eyes taking in the dirty looking clothes Genji had thrown on after finally crawling back home from his all-nighter in the clubs, “...while you seem unable to follow even the smallest order. An order, I might add-”

He steps to Genji and leans down slightly to bring their faces closer to each other: “...is nothing but beneficial to you and your _very diligent_ older brother.”

Genji presses his lips together and lowers his head. It is an instinctive reaction to being cornered by Sojiro Shimada.

He startles when his father’s cool hand grabs the back of his neck and forces him to look up again. Forces him to stare at Hanzo whose face is now flushed a deep red, pulled into a desperate grimace as he tries so hard to come.

“Can’t you see how difficult you are making this for him?” Sojiro murmurs directly into his ear. He has slipped next to Genji noiselessly, whispering insidiously as he makes him watch his older brother’s desperation while the guard finally loses his fight with himself, groaning and leaning over Hanzo’s back as he obviously starts to pump him full.

“Can’t you see how desperately he needs it? Needs _you_? He has only ever been asking for your affection, Genji. Your undivided attention. He loves what he is doing – but don’t you think he could love it even more if you were finally to stop your childish tantrums and give him what he desires? Don’t you suppose having your older brother calling for you – and only you – whenever he needs to spread his legs, is not something you might enjoy infinitely more than the bars you frequent?”

Genji’s ears are burning. He has never heard his father speak like… this.

Hanzo is reaching down now, jerking his painfully swollen looking cock and sobbing into the armrest of the couch; his whole body trembling, wanting but seemingly unable to shoot.

“We need you to do your duty, Genji. _Hanzo_ needs you to do it.”

Genji’s mouth is so dry, his heart racing in his chest. Sojiro’s cool fingers gentle their grip on his neck, thumb slowly brushing along his skin.

“Will you do it? Will you assist your brother in his hours of need?”

“...yes…”

“We never wanted anything more. Thank you, little sparrow.”


	5. Geralt/Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt/Jaskier – big dick Geralt; deep penetration; bit of dub-con; gentle but unrelenting – Jaskier gets second thoughts when he sees Geralt’s endowment but Geralt is not swayed.

Geralt’s pants fall, and so does Jaskier’s face when he sees the heavy cock swinging between the meaty thighs. His hand, previously busy with fucking himself on an oiled wooden phallus, comes to an abrupt stop; the lewd toy hanging half out of his slippery hole. Geralt can see the generous glisten of the muscle; it looks more than ready to take him on.

“Oh, woah, woah… uh…” Jaskier hold up both hands now, making Geralt look back up at him, lifting a brow.

“What?”

“That’s not uh… wow. Heh.” Jaskier wipes the back of his hand over his forehead. His hole is not the only part of his body slick and glistening: his furry torso and face are flushed red just from having to fuck himself on his toy, a fine sheen of sweat covering him.

There’s a pudgy fold in Jaskier’s belly that Geralt wants to _bite_.

“What are you on about?” he growls, hand curling around his cock. It pulses in his palm, thumb easily finding the fat vein snaking along the side. He rubs it idly as he comes closer.

Jaskier’s eyes grow wider as he stares at the display. He makes a sound like a mouse and starts to scramble up the bed, the phallus finally slipping out from his hole and landing on the bed with a thump. The wood looks very smooth and warm in the light of the candles. It looks well-loved.

“Stay! Uh… stay boy. Haha- not so fast, alright? You didn’t mention that you were… that well. You’re hung like a goddamn horse! You should’ve warned a fella, don’t you think?”

“I did.” He puts a knee on the edge of the bed, the furs on it feeling soft and new. He’s spent a good few coins to get the best room of the tavern and he is pleased to find that it hasn’t been in vain.

“And you can’t just jump that on a- wait… what?”

“I did tell you. You laughed until you were near tears and then told me to leave the assessment up to a ‘professional’.”

Jaskier’s mouth opens, then closes, his eyes narrowing in a little squint as he tilts his head and thinks about that.

“That.. uh… yeah. That sounds about right,” he mutters, looking vaguely embarrassed but mostly annoyed with himself. Geralt doesn’t pay too much attention to it. His focus is on Jaskier’s cock, lying in the crook of his leg. It looks as juicy and chubby as the rest of the bard; fat and round and flushed a dark red as it juts from the rather awe-inspiring nest of pubes.

While Jaskier mutters, Geralt grasps the wooden phallus and gently puts it off to the side. It still feels warm from Jaskier’s body.

Next, he grabs the bard’s ankle and jerks him down the bed again. The undignified grunt-and-squawk combo this elicits has him smirk.

“Wait! Wait wait wait, what are you… what do you think you’re going to do with that thing?!”

He grunts, then growls: “Put it to use.” He is grasping Jaskier’s flailing limbs as they come at him, patiently pushing them back down and holding them as he sees necessary. It’s not his first time dealing with a skittish partner. Over the years, Geralt has learned the difference between unwillingness and simple nervousness.

Jaskier’s soft belly jiggles with every sharp movement of his limbs and his juicy cock bounces with it. Geralt keeps watching his body in motion while Jaskier’s inane babble just washes over him like the tide.

He’s used to it. Just as he is used to it all dying down when he gently rubs his tip against that well-oiled muscle. Jaskier’s toy has done its service well. Geralt can slip him his tip without much fuss.

Jaskier’s mouth drops open, his knees starting to slowly angle apart.

“You’re… you’re not being stopped, are you?” he asks breathily. Geralt just grunts and lets him interpret that in whichever way he wishes to – it’s what Jaskier does best.

Slipping into him is meditative. Slow and gentle and relentless. Jaskier lets it happen for about half of the way until he starts to get skittish again. Geralt is prepared for it: He gathers Jaskier’s wrists and leans over him, pressing them down into the bedding as he keeps rocking his hips, pushing his long shaft deeper and deeper with every nudge.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. They look very feminine, ringed with thick lashes as they are. Geralt watches as they start to water the more he fills the bard’s belly.

Geralt is no physician, but he has learned many things on his travels. He has killed and gutted enough animals to be able to ascertain where that first delicious bend in the intestines might be, and he slows down when he starts to encounter it.

Jaskier has gone past babbling now. He is still somewhat fighting against the grip Geralt has on his wrists, but those are mostly involuntary flexes, Geralt knows. They all become worried and unsure when the fat nose of his cock starts to nudge into that bend. They all start to wonder as their bellies feel bloated with cock, if he is going to rip them apart from the inside.

They all become scared.

“Shhh… shhh…” he whispers as his hips keep minimally moving, shoving, nudging, teasing his intestines to conform to his will. His hair has fallen down, framing their faces and shielding them from the outside world.

Jaskier’s hairy chest is heaving, his cheeks red and round like a pair of apples. Geralt keeps wanting to bite him. Wanting to sink his teeth in and feel the fatty parts shiver against him. Jaskier is… surprisingly delicious.

“Don’t be afraid,” he tells him in a low croon. Jaskier’s eyes flutter, his mouth a wet little ‘o’ without a sound coming from him for once. It’s the moment Geralt finally pushes through the bend and back again. He does not wait; does not let him dwell on it. He simply does it again. And again. His balls are resting against Jaskier’s ass, feeling full and hot as he slips into a meditative calm as he fucks the bard.

He’s had others try to describe to him the feeling, but they had all struggled to come up with anything more meaningful than ‘odd’.

 _It is a little… unfamiliar. Like carrying a child, almost? As it moves inside you and you know it is not done by you. That you can’t stop it? Something of the likes_ , a whore had once mused, and she should know, he had thought with quiet awe. She had been a mother of five.

Jaskier never had given birth, so he wonders what is going through his head, but he also doesn’t really want to ask. Not now. Not when he feels the silky walls of his intestines rubbing against his glans again and again; until slowly they aren’t. Until it is just a slow, delicious push and drag inside Jaskier’s body and he knows that he’s rearranged his guts.

That his intestines have conformed to his will and realigned themselves, if just for the moment.

Jaskier’s head has sunk back some time ago, a low guttural groan spilling from his throat. Geralt can feel the mess of his spent sticky between their bellies. He’s come slow and without fanfare, the cream practically pushed out of him by Geralt’s cock.

He will come back for it, Geralt knows. Jaskier’s personality suits itself to being easily addicted to these thrills.

Geralt wonders if he will be just as skittish next time. He quite enjoys having to hold him down.


	6. Geralt/Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt/Jaskier – pony play; cbt (cock and ball torture) – Geralt and Jaskier encounter a village under a peculiar spell. They decide to enjoy themselves before putting an end to it.

The settlement is clearly under a spell. They have had their suspicions when they found some four or five people shamelessly fucking in the fields on the outskirts, but there absolutely was no doubt about it once they got into the village center to witness all the carnage.

They would find out who is behind it – Jaskier’s money is on Yennefer, and if Geralt would be honest he would admit that he is suspecting her too – but that could… wait. Geralt’s latent excitement had been a physical thing to behold next to him; waves of it seemingly vibrating off of his body as he sat atop Roach and watched on as a fishmonger put his customer over the table next to some fish remains to ream him something fierce.

Jaskier keeps nervously plucking his lute, unsure if he should get the attention of the fellows in town – or if he would even want to.

“Don’t you want to sing for them? Get some money out of their pockets while they are… out of it?” Geralt is growling as per usual, managing to sound derisive to boot, but Jaskier can hear the weird lilt in his voice. He is _interested_.

“What pockets?!” he asks back exasperated, arm going out to indicate all of the square. “There’s nary a stitch of clothing to behold! If they have any coins on them, I neither wish to know where they hide, nor do I wish to have them for myself.”

That earns him one of Geralt’s rare snorts. Jaskier smirks and reaches out, grabbing his boot. Geralt slows Roach to a stop, glancing down from his high position. His yellow eyes are feverish and glowing like sulfur. Jaskier is reasonably sure he is not under whatever spell this is – after all _he_ is not, and he is a mere human – so… he blinks up at him innocently.

“Want to find out what the Hell is going on here?”

“Hmn. ...Later.”

Jaskier’s mouth twitches.

“That’s what I want to hear. Come on– get down. And undress.”

.o.

Nobody bats an eyelid at a hugely muscled man being paraded down the townsquare in nothing but a bridle and a little wooden board holding his heavy breeder balls back, and it is honestly one of the most freeing experiences Jaskier has ever had.

He wonders if Yennefer is watching as he pulls on the reigns and has Geralt stand up taller, the motion automatically pulling on his fat sack. He wonders if she enjoys the show when Geralt fights against the bonds holding his arms at his back and tries to rip the reigns out of Jaskier’s hands.

Yennefer is a scary lady and Jaskier doesn’t trust her as far as he can throw her, but he has soon come to the understanding that they both have a similar taste in what ah… titillates them.

“None of that,” he says crisply, pulling on the reigns and giving Geralt’s balls a sharp little love tap with the crop he found lying near the horses’ water trough. A mere mortal would howl or scream or make a huge damn fuss out of it – but the Witcher just grunts and starts to furiously chew on the metal bit. Jaskier can hear it clinking; can see the way Geralt’s jaw bulges as he grits his teeth.

Yes, Witchers… they can endure a whole lot more punishment than anybody around. It is inspiring. Maybe he should compose a piece…

_The mighty Witchers from times long gone by_

_so lonely yet sturdy, so when they do comply_

_to your crop and your knee as they drool on their bit-_

Geralt suddenly jerks his torso forward, nearly ripping the reigns out of Jaskier’s hand. He curses under his breath as the pain from his shoulder radiates through his body. He doesn’t know how, but Geralt always seems to just _sense_ when his thoughts aren’t solely on him and him alone-

“Bad. Horse!” The crop hisses through the air, hitting Geralt’s ass once, twice, making him buck and growl until Jaskier ends with another sharp tap to his balls. That, at last, makes him howl a little.

“You know- geldings are a lot more manageable…” He jerks on the reigns to force Geralt to a stop so he can step up next to him and enjoy the view from the front. The stud’s broad chest is heaving, his almost grotesquely large cock hard and swinging between his thighs.

There is something… demonic about seeing Geralt like this. He reminds Jaskier of the odd depiction of a Satan he has seen every now and then; with a cock like a horse’s swinging between furry goat legs…

He brings his crop forward, moving it beneath Geralt’s pride and joy to lift it up for inspection.

“Interesting offer…”

He glances up. It is fun to see the corners of Geralt’s eyes go tight as the touch to his cock has the pull on his balls increase.

“I wonder if I should take you up on it… or maybe I should be done with your unruliness?”

He pulls the crop away just to swat at the crown of Geralt’s cock. It has the Witcher buck like the stud he is, one of his knees jerking up, a pained wheeze stuck in his throat.

Jaskier is absolutely _delighted_. Part of him wants to crow _You seeing this, Yen, you mean bitch?!_ , the other part wants to test just how strong Geralt really is. How long he could carry Jaskier on his back until he buckles into the wet mud that the village square has become under the recent rains.

“It would be a shame to castrate you,” he murmurs thoughtfully, eying the now swollen and red balls pulled back through the humbler. He reaches out, cupping them in the palm holding the riding crop. He can hear Geralt inhaling sharply, then chewing on the bit again. There’s drool frothing at the corners of his mouth like a content horse.

Jaskier lets go of his balls and curls the reigns around his fists once, twice until the broad, scarred back is starting to arch. He then orders: “Go.”

Geralt tries, but there’s not much he can do, pulled off balance by Jaskier’s unyielding fist; arms bound behind him.

He swats Geralt’s thighs, his ass, his deliciously presented balls, barking at him the order again and again. The stud begins to sweat profusely, sounds of pain forced from his throat. His cock is flushing darker, a steady drip of slippery pre-cum leaking from the swollen crown.

Around them, the carnage keeps on going. Nobody pays them any mind. They are all preoccupied with their own need and greed. Jaskier has never felt this… free before.

Geralt’s balls are flushed and swollen from the treatment. Jaskier has never heard him as vocal as when he gets his nuts tortured by the mean bite of a riding crop.

Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off of him like a fever. He knows instinctively that the next hit will be the last, and indeed-

Geralt roars like a lion, his head tilted toward the gray sky that is starting up a fine drizzle yet again. Jaskier can watch as that huge cock jerks, pumping fat ropes of cum directly onto the mud beneath. He should have grabbed it and pointed it up; see just how far Geralt can unleash his load.

It is something to consider for next time. Maybe he could somehow incorporate the result into one of his songs…

But first they had to stop whatever was driving the people in this village mad.


	7. Reinhardt/Ana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt/Ana – old people; flaccid play; cunnilingus – Ana has fun with Reinhardt’s soft useless old man dick.

Ana is smirking like a cat, glancing from Reinhardt’s soft cock in her hand up to his face and back again. Reinhardt flushes and glances off to the side, heat curling through his body. As a young man he would have grabbed her hands and simply drawn them off of his body, but with age comes patience.

He keeps his hands folded on his belly, toes lightly curling. Her hand feels nice and while his body is pleasantly warm and tingling, his cock remains asleep – as per usual these days. It becomes more and more rare that his body seems inclined to put in the effort of pumping blood into his phallus.

In a way, he can understand. Priorities do shift and some things just don’t seem worth the effort anymore.

When he has a beautiful woman as Ana between his thighs, though, he thinks his body could at least try to put in the effort. At least he knows Ana is not offended.

In fact, she is leaning her chin into her palm, looking thoughtful as she squeezes the spongy shaft in her hand.

“I would be offended if I didn’t think I could still play with you.” She twists her hand slightly, thumb and forefinger pinching the generous overhang of his foreskin and rubbing it between the pads just to feel how squishy and silky it is. The sensation is… odd, given that he is not hard, but it still does something for him. He almost squirms, hands gripping each other a little more tightly. The tingle is almost the same as if he were hard, but not quite. It goes a bit deeper into his belly, it seems like – especially when she puts in the effort of pulling his foreskin down to reveal the glans to the cool air of the room.

Ana leans in, opens her mouth and breathes warm against it. Reinhardt closes his eyes and lets his head sink back.

“Do you want to play, Reinhardt?”

That makes him laugh softly. He finally untangles his fingers so he can rub one hand over his face.

“I am sorry, my dear… I thought that is what we are doing right now?”

Ana smirks again, her eye glinting in amused mischief.

“No. _I_ am playing right now. I am asking you if you would like to join while I take care of… this.” She moves her hand, damn near wagging his flaccid cock through the air like nothing more than a tasty sausage.

Reinhardt flushes, half of it hidden beneath the fur on his chest.

“Oh. That is correct, of course.” He stares down at her. If he leans up he can just about see the tops of her breasts squished against the bed as she lays on her belly. His toes curl, thinking of sucking on them. While they are saggy with age, he can’t deny the allure they still have on him. Maybe even more so than at any other time.

“Yes,” he says finally, extending a hand to her like a knight offering up assistance to a lady standing up. “Please. I would like that.”

Of course it doesn’t happen as he hoped it might. Ana crawls all over him without a care for whether one of her sharp elbows digs into his side. She throws her leg over his head. He only has a moment to get with the program before she lowers herself onto his face, her pussy smearing against his lips without hesitation. Ana isn’t shy. Never has been.

It is, in fact, usually her that has to tease him out of his shell when it is about all these… carnal activities.

The darkness makes it easier to relax, though. He’s had his face stuffed into her pussy often enough to feel comforted by the heat and slickness against his nose and lips. The taste as he drags his tongue through her gash from top to bottom, focusing on tonguing her hole, sliding against the silky edge-

Ana is not idle either. She has lain down on his belly, body stretched leisurely to reach his cock while having him service her cunt. He can feel her hot breath against the soft shaft, but instead of slipping his cock back into her mouth, she gathers it gently into her palm once more.

Reinhardt lets his thoughts just move, feeling the warm, deep arousal spreading through his body while lapping at Ana’s pussy. Every now and then he will round her clit or suck on it with a lewd slurp, but she’s taught him very intensely how she wants to be serviced, so he doesn’t focus too much on it… yet.

Further down, Ana’s hand begins to gently squeeze down on his cock until his thighs tense. She relaxes again, gives him a moment of reprieve, then does it again. And again – seemingly just to feel how squishy his shaft is, how useless his dick; unable to pleasure her as it had done when they were younger.

She seems to derive almost more enjoyment out of its current pitiful state. When she is satisfied with testing the softness of the skin and the squishiness of the flesh, she sucks him into her mouth like a pacifier.

He is still large, quite a mouth full, but she does not have a problem keeping him warm against her tongue, lips wrapped around the base of it. The tingling deep sensation in his belly intensifies.

Reinhardt starts to become a little restless, heels digging against the bed. He closes his mouth around her pussy, sucking on it in turn. 

Only moments later, a slippery finger touches his hole. He jumps, pulling away from her cunt with a gasp. Ana cackles like a beast, then slips him her finger.

A fog seems to descend on Reinhardt’s brain. He must still be lapping at her and doing a reasonably good job about it – she is not complaining, at least – but he is not actively aware of it.

His cock is engulfed in her mouth, warm and secure, all the while her cruel little finger is rounding his prostate with ease, nudging it through the thin membrane of his intestines.

His balls are churning, belly hot and tight as his body tells him he is about to come while his cock is nowhere near ready for it.

Reinhardt can’t help but shimmie his hips, tongue getting ruder and greedier as he drags it against Ana’s gash, now focusing on her clit with desperation while she sucks his soft cock and massages his prostate.

When he comes, it almost doesn’t register as an orgasm at first; it’s slow and bone deep, pulsing out through his body to the tips of his toes and up into his chest. He is vaguely aware of Ana starting to swallow the cum slowly dripping from his useless dick, her tongue playing with the long foreskin like sucking him off is just a huge indulgence.

Which it is, he supposes.

She opens his mouth and lets his soft cock flop out. It hits his thigh with a wet little sound that pulses more heat through his limbs.

He clenches his eyes shut, getting more desperate about wrenching an orgasm out of her. He prides himself on never having her let go without something of her own. He is not about to stop that.


	8. Geralt/Ciri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt/Ciri – young femdom :)))) part 1 – Geralt catches Ciri sneaking around his rooms.
> 
> Sequel: B42F7

Geralt lowers himself into the wooden tub as long as the water is anything resembling to hot. He grabs the fur hanging over the edge of it and brings it to his face, briefly inspecting whether he’ll even want to scrub down with it or if he’d get off even dirtier afterwards.

The fur passes muster and he starts to rub down his chest, which is when he… notices it. Something. It.

He pauses, listening into the otherwise silent room. Slowly, his hand resumes moving, the motion across his chest without any real purpose now as he focuses in on the rabbit fast heartbeat of a little animal. Human.

 _Girl_.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he grunts, twisting his head to try and peer behind him. When nothing moves for a moment longer, he sighs impatiently: “Get out. I have seen you.”

To his surprise, the cupboard next to him opens up, and Ciri unfolds herself from the darkness within.

“You have not seen me. That is a lie,” she says a lot more primly than a young girl being caught spying on a man bathing should have any right of sounding in Geralt’s opinion. He narrows his eyes staring at her while Ciri busies herself in brushing down her dress and decidedly not looking at him.

She is pale as a ghost – which is not new – other than two hectic spots of color high on her cheekbones.

“I have heard you,” he grunts distractedly. He jerks his head to the door. “Leave.”

She does not, though. She remains stubbornly standing where she is; Stubbornness. A trait Geralt has found makes up far too much of the erstwhile princess. He decides to change tactics.

“What are you doing here?” He gestures lazily toward the cupboard she crawled out of. “...What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly but seems to realize that it is a foolish thing to say, so she takes a deep breath and starts to straighten herself, lifting her aristocratic little nose into the air. “I wanted to see.”

“See what?”

“You.”

Geralt can’t help but be impressed with her guts. He stares at her a moment longer. He wonders what to say to a statement as such, or what to do about it. In the end he gestures to the door once more.

“So you have seen me. Go.”

“No.”

“I said go!”

“Make me!”

There’s a devious glint in her pale eyes. Does she think she can put one over him with these childish games? Geralt bares his teeth, and, seeing the flash of worry on her face, starts to get up from his bath. The water is already all but cold anyway.

“Don’t think I will not ‘make you’,” he growls but is taken aback by Ciri staring at him unabashedly. The spots of color have grown on her cheeks but she stands her ground, staring down the wet expanse of his torso to his cock hanging between his thighs, heavy and at rest.

If she is horrified by all the scars littering his skin, she does not show it. The girl has guts. He is almost reluctantly impressed by her.

“How old are you.”

“Should you not know? You made that vow, after all.”

He grits his teeth, stepping out of the tub. Cheeky little-

“You just wish for a reason to deny me,” she says, her jaw shoved forward in a mulish way. She has her hands curled at her sides, feet apart as if preparing for a bodily fight. Her words have him pause.

“...Deny you?” he says slowly, brain lagging behind. She huffs, the color now spread to her whole face.

“I wish to partake in your services,” she says slowly as if talking to an imbecile. When all he does is stare, she makes a low sound of frustration and begins to peel herself out of her coat. The nights are long and cold these days, so when the outer layer drops he can see her hard nipples poking against the thinner undergarment. It somewhat jolts him back into action.

He should laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of her request, but her face is fierce and he’s learned a very long time ago never to laugh at a woman that is undressing.

Her tits are so small they would fit into the palm of his hand as if made just for the purpose.

No, he can’t be distracted. He needs to grab her and put her outside the room to ponder what demon has taken possession of her. Ciri has other ideas. She takes advantage of his brain working slowly through the conundrum and steps up to him, her small hand grabbing him by the cock.

She pulls and he has no other option but to follow her a few stumbling steps until he reaches down and curls his hand hard enough around her wrist that he can feel the delicate bones slightly move. Ciri’s face contorts a little before smoothing out once more.

“What do you think you are doing?” he snarls at her, trying to wrench her hand off his cock. Her fingers curl immediately tighter until he has to admit that trying to get her off would probably result in him castrating himself.

“I do not wish to repeat myself. You are to service me. Now.”

She moves a few more steps toward the bed and Geralt has to follow her. Degraded to a dog on the leash of a temperamental child. He can snarl and growl all he want, the young woman is completely unfazed.

“You are no longer a princess. You are not to ‘order’ me to do anything.”

Ciri comes to a stop and turns to peer up into his face. Her cheeks are cherry red but there is a fierce determination in her fine features that have his heart sink and his cock – shamefully enough – surge in her meanly gripping hand. He has always had a soft spot for headstrong women…

Ciri’s face lights in triumph when she feels the reaction against her palm. Her fingers slide against his skin, thumb searching and finding the quickly swelling vein on the side of the shaft.

“You are truly gifted, Witcher. You have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met. But you are… rather slow on the uptake, I fear.” Ciri is blinking up at him. When he doesn’t react one way or another – not knowing what to say to that – she grins like she has already won.

Maybe she has.

He would have thought it would take him months to get her to open up to him and stop being afraid. She had looked so lost when he saw her that first time in the woods, but…

Ciri has taken to him like a moth to flame. As if Geralt has always been the key to her lock.

“I might not be a princess anymore… but you will pretend for me, will you?” she asks sweetly. She steps a little closer; it is easy for her to seal her mouth over one of his nipples; after all, it is the perfect height for her. She keeps looking up at him with her pale, mesmerizing eyes as she suckles and starts to feel up his growing erection.

He could push her away now as she is off her guard and her fingers are no longer tightly clenched around his shaft, but…

...he has always been weak to headstrong women.


	9. Bruce/Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce/Jason – fisting – Direct continuation; Part 2 of 2.
> 
> Prequel: B40F14

Bruce is squinting at Jason lying in front of him while slowly spreading his fingers apart inside him, testing the stretch of the rim.

Jason has not been graceful in having to wait for his body to slowly start accepting to relax. The longer it takes, the more agitated he becomes, his chest heaving and his hands balling into fists.

“Stop _looking_ like that and do it!” Jason’s voice is almost cracking. He’s as nervous as Bruce himself is, though Bruce is better at hiding it.

He slowly shakes his head, free hand patiently making sure to keep Jason’s hips as still as possible so he wouldn’t hurt himself inadvertently with his dancing around.

“This can’t be rushed. If you do not want to wait we can stop it altogether,” he replies with a growl. The more fingers he has pushed into Jason’s body, feeling him slowly but surely accept the intrusion, the more he has realized just how much he himself needs this. Needs to feel Jason’s hot insides around his fist. Needs to see how he is inside him up to his wrist. So threatening him to stop is just as much pain to himself but it is necessary.

Bruce is flying by the seat of his pants and he does not want to have to come up with an explanation as to why Jason is having inner injuries.

“God, fuck you’re so _lame_ ,” Jason groans. There’s a whine threaded through the noise that hits Bruce somewhere deep in his belly and has his cock twitching. He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten hard again so fast. Well, he’s not hard yet but he’s damn close to it.

“I am _responsible_ ,” he corrects him distractedly, eyes on the stretch of Jason’s rim on his fingers. It is so soft, so pliable… He slips him a fourth finger without alerting him to the fact and Jason just takes it without complaint.

He probably doesn’t even notice it until Bruce starts to spread them apart a bit more aggressively. He’s so close to having all five inside him…!

Jason’s chest expands so wide that Bruce wonders if he has forgotten how to exhale. It is as if a switch has gotten flipped; Jason becomes calmer all of a sudden, his complaints dying down into nothing.

Bruce stares at him as he folds his thumb against his palm and squirts a bit more lube onto everything just to be sure. Jason doesn’t even react when all fingers slip into him. He wonders if the young man even notices as much. His eyes are open but he is staring at the ceiling, his arms slowly stretching out to either side of him. He is lying there and taking it.

Bruce would love to know what is going on in his head but he doesn’t dare to ask and potentially jump start Jason’s brain into working again. It’s easier to figure all of this out without having to wrangle the destructive tendencies of the young man.

It’s so silent in the room without Jason’s constant bickering. Bruce can hear his breathing, the rush of blood in his ears, then wet sounds of his hand moving inside Jason when he rotates his wrist and attempts to nudge deeper into him.

“Easy now,” he whispers, leaning over him to be able to better peer into his face. “Nice and easy now. Are you still with me, Jason?”

The kid blinks slowly, mouth open and wet and so very inviting… but Bruce can’t manage to kiss him and keep his hand inside him at the same time, so he settles on gently squeezing Jason’s leg. Earlier he had wanted to ask him to turn on his belly as that would probably make the whole ordeal easier, but now he doesn’t think that he would have the coordination needed to keep his limbs beneath him for support.

Bruce is still staring at him when the heel of his hand suddenly slips inside Jason’s body without much fanfare. It had only taken some patient teasing to get it to slip inside. Bruce leans back on his knees and stares at the sight of Jason’s rim around his wrist. It feels utterly surreal.

Jason is still not responding much as if he hadn’t noticed this as well. Bruce will not make him pay attention to it. His fingers are deeper than they have ever been before. He can rub all of his fingertips into the soft walls of Jason’s intestines.

It slowly occurs to Bruce as he fights against falling into a stupor himself, that putting his fist into Jason is more nerve-wracking than fighting against various criminals in his past. He closes his eyes, consciously slowing his breathing. He tries to find that calm middle of meditation but whenever he comes close to finding it, he can feel a tremble of Jason’s insides or the flutter of a pulse against his knuckles and his efforts are dashed.

It doesn’t matter. He’s come this far, he will see it through. Bruce stares at Jason’s lower abdomen as he begins to carefully curl his fingers against his palm. As his fist forms, Jason gasps as if breaking through the surface of water. His thighs tremble, a fine sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead.

He does not look at Bruce; his eyes look glassy like he is far, far away despite his cock being so hard it looks painful. Bruce’s breath hitches when he realizes he can see his fist in Jason’s abdomen. There is an alien bump there now that, when he moves his knuckles against the silky walls of Jason’s intestines, moves about and has the kid’s cock jumping a bit.

Heat and cold swamp Bruce’s body as he keeps going with morbid curiosity, his own erection far down in his list of priorities as he manages to nudge his fist deeper into Jason; watching the bump in his abdomen _move_ until he can rub his knuckles up behind his belly button.

It looks grotesque, but Bruce can’t deny how how he is getting for this. He can’t believe he is so deep in Jason. He can’t believe Jason would ask him for something as intimate as this. He can’t believe Jason is getting _off_ on it. Bruce wonders how it had to feel being filled so much.

When Jason makes an odd gurgling sound, Bruce almost jumps. He glances up into his face, then back down to his cock twitching and flexing as it starts to pump out cum. All around Bruce’s arm he can feel that orgasm as well; muscles squeezing down and trembling, hugging him impossibly tight.

He doesn’t think he will ever be able to forget this incredible feeling. He would have never guessed what depths lay hidden behind Jason’s moody facade.

He will have to try to get him to babble again. An orgasming Jason is a shockingly honest Jason.


	10. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel/Jack – Part 2 of 2 – Birthing kink; catching feels – the fog orbs had gone in and they have to come out again somehow...
> 
> Prequel: B40F15

“G-Gabriel… please!” There is an honest panic in Jack’s voice when he feels the last ball of dense fog pressing against his rim.

Gabriel looks up to stare into his face. It is glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, his eyes large. He doesn’t look like he is looking at anything in particular, but there is a muscle jumping in his cheek as if he is in pain.

He probably is. Every now and then, his belly shakes with a fine tremor, his intestines most likely cramping from the intense stuffing. Gabriel lifts a brow and mercilessly pushes on the ball of fog once more. Jack croaks out something that might be a cry. His hands fly down, pressing against his bulging stomach. He looks like a pregnant lady – even his bellybutton seems on the verge of popping out obscenely – and Gabriel is not prepared for how instinctively hot that sight gets him.

“Are you about to beg me to stop?”

He curls one clawed hand around Jack’s cock just to feel how silky and hard it is in his grip. Just to let him feel the danger of his razor sharp claws threatening to drag against the sensitive skin.

Jack doesn’t react to it much, though; his whole being seems to be focused on the impossible stretch in his gut and the cramps wrecking his body. He doesn’t even put up a fight against Gabriel’s cajoling – he just starts whining for mercy.

“S-Stop, please- I can’t… I’m gonna-”

Gabriel slowly tilts his head to the side, interest piqued. He lets up a little on trying to squeeze the last ball into Jack as well but doesn’t pull it away completely. He finds that he quite likes having the Strike Commander at his mercy like this. It’s like old times. Even a little better. Jack seems more desperate. More touch starved.

Is there really something to his claim that he hasn’t had anybody since everything went downhill? It does stroke Gabriel’s ego so he wants to believe it.

“What are you going to do, Jack?” He asks, then adds in a lower, more insidious tone of voice: “Jackie…”

Jack’s face goes slack again for just a moment. His half-blind, grey eyes staring at the ceiling, looking like they are almost brimming with tears. A moment later his muscles cramp and his mouth twists in pain once more. His hips shimmie, then even jerk up as if trying to fuck into Gabriel’s fist.

Oh, this is fantastic. Jack looks like he is losing all composure over his own body. Delicious.

“What are you going to do, Jack? What are you going to do if I don’t stop?” He starts to increase the pressure on the ball of dense fog yet again, and Jack’s hips jump, his back arches, his fingers twitch against his huge belly.

“They’re coming out! Oh f… _fuck_ , they’re coming out, Gabe!”

It’s like old times. It’s like there never had been a rift between them. As if just last night they had been much younger and much more happy to fuck each other up in the bedroom.

Despite himself, he can feel something soften inside him; the rage with which he had started all of this long since slipped out the backdoor without him noticing. Gabriel sighs deeply.

He lets go of Jack’s cock, the last ball of fog dissipating into thin air. Instead of torturing him with just one more, he starts to rub the insides of Jack’s trembling thighs.

“Do it, then…” he murmurs, eyes on that huge, trembling belly Jack is clutching on to. He can see how his hole wants to spread around the last dark orb that Gabriel had pushed into him, all of his intestines bearing down to try and work the intruders out again. It is… damn. It’s really hot to watch, actually. “Push them out, Jackie… Let me see.”

There’s a quite spectacular flush rising from Jack’s distended belly and crawling up into his chest, his throat, his face. The pain had to be big, but it didn’t seem enough to not make him squirm and whine at that.

“Birth them, Jackie-” he sing-songs relentlessly, his hands keeping up their slow, hypnotizing up-and-down petting motion.

Jack, being a stubborn bastard, holds on to it by the skin of his teeth, but there seems no force in the universe able to stop the inevitable. He pushes his head back, baring his throat swelling around a deep, guttural groan while Gabriel can enjoy the view of him finally bearing down properly.

His tight hole expands readily around the dense ball. It had been so easy to slip them inside his, but they seem not inclined on being as agreeable in coming out. As everything concerning Gabriel, they are loath to leave the warm confines of Jack’s body. To leave _Jack_ – and he can’t fault them for it.

Eventually the first does pop out, though, and all dams seem to break. Jack is clutching at his belly with one hand, and pressing the other palm over his face as he sobs out with the immense relieve in pressure the single expulsion brings him. The dense ball of fog rolls over the sheets for just a second before it dissipates into thin air. The next one is already filling Jack’s hole yet again. The muscle is softer now. Gabriel can see it glistening wet in the dingy light of the run-down room they’re in.

Jack’s belly heaves and trembles, then he bears down once more, his thighs tensing up beneath Gabriel’s now still hands. Gabriel maybe should have commented something nasty while Jack birthed the fat orbs of dense fog, but nothing comes to mind. All he can do is watch and be reluctantly impressed as Jack’s body works to expel the intruders and stop his intestines from cramping.

His belly visibly shrinks before Gabriel’s eyes, but the whole ordeal does not go by without _some_ consequence, at least. When the last ball of fog is pushed out of his belly and he groans long and deep in satisfaction, Gabriel’s eyes are fixed on the gape of his hole.

There is nothing nice and tight about it now after birthing all the orbs Gabriel had forced inside his guts. It is sloppy and glistening wet and ready to take a nice deep fucking without complaint.

Jack is just lying there and breathing deeply, cock standing erect and flexing from the waves of relief and pleasure that had to be swamping his senses right now. Gabriel can feel him twitch when he blankets him, his cock nudging against the sloppy opening for just a second before sliding in nice and deep without a hitch.

Jack gasps, back arching briefly until he realizes that there is not the unpleasant feeling of ‘too full’ but one of ‘just right’.

Gabriel stares down at him. He searches for an impulse to just grunt fuck into Jack and dump his load into him to leave him lying there like a used up condom, but he can’t find it anywhere.

Instead there is a little well of fondness that seems to have been dripping for years now. Decades.

He sighs deeply and leans down, pressing a kiss against Jack’s mouth while his hips start up a slow, easy rhythm.

Jack would always be his weakness, it seems.


	11. Shane/Slime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane/Slime (Stardew) – Direct continuation; slime sex – But honestly how far down the ladder do you have to be to be used by *two* monsters?
> 
> Prequel: B40F12

Shane’s legs feel unsteady. _Like jelly_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully. His cock is feeling about as stuffed as his insides do, and the hot fog of shameless need has not yet receded from his brain.

_Goddamn fucking bug!_

He can’t believe it would just fuck him and leave him like this. He slowly pushes himself off the boulder and looks down his body. His shirt feels a little tighter than usual but it is concealing the bump now in his stomach. Where the bug filled him with its eggs. His cock twitches, dribbling pre-cum onto the dusty cave floor.

God, fuck he is so hot… he’s come down here to get the fuck of his lifetime but he’s still as pent up as he’d been before. Maybe even more. Shane carefully reaches for his belly and cups the bump, pressing against it. Stars explode in front of his eyes when the bug eggs inside him get slightly squished and push against all kinds of weird places inside him. His cock twitches again, a clear spurt of pre-cum arching from his body and hitting the rock he had lain over.

Presenting himself to get inseminated by a monster.

Shane knows that once the sex fog is cleared from his head, his self-hate will know no bounds but… shit. Shit and damn, the slime is still there. It is even closer now, wriggling on the spot.

It’s a dark emerald green and so clear that he can see the rocks and dirt behind it. No organs, no face, no nothing. He has no idea how these things even exist, though he supposes that’s something for Dimitri to figure out. Or maybe that wizard.

“Oh fuck… come here you stupid thing,” he groans, defeated by his own need to get off. He stumbles a little closer. The slime shivers but stays where it is. Maybe it has some rudimentary intelligence that makes it curious as to what Shane is up to. Or maybe it knows exactly what he is up to. Maybe fucking is just something so deeply ingrained that it does not need to wonder, it just _knows_.

When Shane gets his hands on it, the first that he notices is how pleasantly cool the thing is. The next is that while it is slimy, it does not stick much to his hands. It’s like a slightly more firm… jelly. He slowly moves his hands in a petting motion across its surface.

It’s large for a slime; pretty much hip height.

 _Perfect_.

Shane finds himself looking for a front and a back for a second before he realizes how stupid he is being.

“Shit alright… uh… thanks, I guess,” he mutters as he shuffles forward still. The slime is as docile as they come. It still shivers on the spot but he does not get the feeling that it is _afraid_. Maybe… it is _anticipating_ what is going to happen?

Shane sure is. He sure goddamn is anticipating it. His cock is swollen and flushed an almost worrying shade of red, sticky pre-cum slowly dribbling from the tip. The eggs inside him keep shifting and moving with every of his motions, keeping up a constant wriggle and jiggle inside his intestines that is driving him insane.

_Maybe these… love balls? Maybe I should… try those… wow…_

His thoughts are so slow and sluggish. He can’t help but cry out softly when he finally pushes his cock into the slime and the cool jelly surrounds it. It’s not painfully cold, but certainly a shock to the system.

“Holy shit holy shit,” he slurs indistinct. He’s just muttering for his own benefit, really. There’s nobody around to judge him. Just a big ol’ slime that is sitting there and letting him fuck it.

His hips jerk uncoordinated at first but soon he gets some kind of rhythm going. His ears are filled both with the sound of his own blood rushing through his body, and the wet smacking sounds his cock creates when thrusting into the jelly to deposit the odd spurt of pre-cum into it.

He looks down. The slime is so clear… He can see himself fucking into it as if through the glass of a bottle. Ain’t that a fun tidbit…

In the split second he pulls back, the slime re-fills the space his overheated cock has left, giving him the opportunity to carve his path over and over again. His hips hitting the slime produce a weird _pap, pap, pap_ that is almost humorous. He doesn’t really have a head for comedy right now, though.

He doesn’t have a head for anything other than needing to grunt fuck into something and finally shoot his load. The fact that nobody is here to judge him only makes it better. He can be as loud as he wants, muttering lewd shit as he bends over the slime and gives it to the monster hard.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it, don’t you? Love getting human cock… you been angling for it, huh? You nasty, slutty slime…”

It’s stupid and doesn’t make much sense, but Shane doesn’t talk much in his everyday life and for some reason just being able to run his mouth knowing nobody hears it is doing things to him. It’s… relaxing.

His balls ache. His whole body aches. Up to the tips of his fingers. It’s always been like this when he’s gotten horny; even as a teen just figuring out how his body works. It’s not an unwelcome ache. He digs his fingers against the cool jelly surface of the slime, breath hitching when he can just push them in.

He wonders how it would feel like to slip into the slime. Be suspended in the clear emerald goo. He can imagine how nice it would be, having the slime hop about with him in the middle, the slight vibrations of whenever it hits the ground…

“Holy… fuck-” he wheezes, voice reedy as his hips stutter and his cock flexes in the cool gooey slime jelly. He screws his eyes shut, pressing himself against the slime and probably getting his clothes wet from it. He’ll have to come up with something if anybody outside sees him-

The slime vibrates. He can feel it around his dick. It does that little shiver it has done multiple times before, but now it feels so goddamn _intense_ on his dick. Not to mention the load he has in his gut... So weird and ticklish and-

Shane cries out rough and primal, eyes popping open – staring down into the emerald jelly and watching his cock spurt out thick strings of cum. As he watches, the jelly neatly… eagerly?... absorbs them. Seconds after depositing load after load, his cum is nowhere to be seen.

Shane stumbles back, his body hot and pulsing with the orgasm of a lifetime. The jelly shivers again when he lets go of it and then just… hops away.

He stares after it, numb in his post-orgasm haze. He gets the distinct feeling he’s been used by two monsters now. There’s a vague image of human shaped little jelly babies waddling around the cave in a few month’s time.

Oh… well… uh… 

Huh.

He… should just get home...


	12. Bruce/Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason/Bruce – somnophilia verse – Bruce turns the tables. (Grand finale in the next batch :) )
> 
> Prequel: B40F11  
> Sequel: B42F10

B has not contacted him. Jason is seething. He may or may not be having some kind of withdrawal, running around with his cock like a baseball bat in his pants, bashing skulls a little more aggressively than usual when some night working ladies get harassed.

Why is he not calling him? Has he not been _satisfied_ by their last encounters? The mere fact that he is thinking of the stupid Bat like this is only fuelling his rage, making him think of why he is angry in the first place… 

It is a spiral that Jason can’t break out of. He keeps thinking of that last night; replaying in his head how pathetic and out of it Bruce had sounded when Jason rawed him until he was bloody…

Damn and there goes his cock again. He doesn’t need much more incentive these days… not when he has those memories to go along with.

_Why is he not calling?!_

Does he have another poor asshole come to his house to service him? Has his awakening as an anal slut made Bruce Wayne into the menace that Jason had always known he could be?

He has his guard down. It’s the only reason springing to mind when someone can grab him from behind without him having noticed them in the first place. He twists and struggles immediately, but the assailant is skilled, pinning his limbs and rendering him immobile within seconds.

Jason is just about to bite the hand clamped over his mouth when the aftershave curling around him tickles something in his brain.

Bruce.

He doesn’t go limp, per se, but he relaxes somewhat while his cock becomes even harder.

B pulls him back into the shadows of the heating unit on top of the building Jason had been hanging out on. The ground changes. Jason looks down and notices that there are a few blankets spread out on the concrete.

“Huh?” he mutters against the palm of Bruce’s hand. It finally gets lifted away from his mouth but neither says anything. Jason’s brow is crinkled as he stares at the blankets, then at Bruce. He notices that he isn’t wearing his uniform. He’s just… Bruce, basically. Bruce who is grabbing at his hand and starting to tug him down to the ground.

“The Hell are you doing?” he grunts.

Bruce shakes his head. “Repaying a favor.”

It doesn’t really click with Jason until he is on his back with Bruce on top of him. His heart makes a weird jump in his chest and his belly swoops. He croaks out a laugh. “Oh, Hell no.”

But his struggling is met with the same nimble resistance as before. It’s not brutal, it doesn’t even _hurt_ , but it is so effective that it has Jason’s temper spike like nothing else.

“Stop that shit!”

Bruce has Jason’s hands pinned over his head, free hand now down, gently cupping the swell of his cock and squeezing it. Stars explode in front of Jason’s eyes. It’s so goddamn black in Gotham’s shadows that it’s like getting assaulted by the darkness itself.

His hips tilt up into the touch despite himself, shame and arousal sparking through his body in equal measures.

“Do you really want me to stop?” Bruce asks softly against Jason’s ear. His breath is warm and tickling. Temper flares in Jason’s chest – he’s overheard that exact line often enough just moments before ramming the head of a guy against a building to let the poor lady get away.

“That how you do seduction, B?” he hisses.

It doesn’t get any answer other than Bruce’s large hand gently squeezing his cock once more, then working on opening Jason’s pants.

Jason keeps squirming though he has to admit, if only to himself, that he isn’t even doing it half-heartedly. He’s been obsessing over Bruce for so long now that he is curious to see where this is going. Gotham’s night air is cool even in Summer, so he hisses when Bruce wrestles his pants off of him but stays close to warm him with his body.

“I’m going to return the favor,” B repeats cryptically. There’s a ludicrous moment where Jason wonders if B thinks he can actually play-rape him like Jason has done to him, but moments later the stupid bastard starts pressing kisses against Jason’s jaw.

Jason blinks up into the dark night sky, brain not computing until Bruce starts to nudge his way between his thighs.

“B…?”

He doesn’t want to sound as lost as he does, but… oh well here they are. Bruce lets go of his hands and instead of strangling him, he reaches down and grasps on to the other man’s shoulders, holding on while slick fingers are suddenly slipping between his cheeks.

Jason has no idea how any of this happened, to be quite frank. One second he is moodily debating jerking off on the rooftop and looking for a sexshop to loot some toys from, the next he is on a few blankets getting his tightly clenched hole tickled by Bruce Wayne’s slicked up fingers.

It is surreal. Utter madness.

“Are you drunk?” he croaks out, fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulders until it has to hurt.

In retaliation, Bruce’s fingers become slower and more intimate, the pad of one slowly circling the tight clench of Jason’s hole. He gives him the edge of a fingernail just as a contrast every now and then; a little nudge of sensation that skitters through his whole body.

“I am not,” Bruce murmurs against the hinge of Jason’s jaw. “I just thought about this long and hard… and I thought that you would like the be the one spreading your legs for once.”

He moves up a little, using Jason’s stunned silence to murmur right into his ear: “I can treat you to something nice. You don’t have to do anything but lay back and spread your legs. And relax your hole.”

To emphasize, he judges a bit harder against Jason’s tight clench.

Jason takes in air with a mighty gasp, stars exploding in front of his eyes again.

“You think I’ll just lay back and let you spew bullshit, B?!” he hisses and clamps his knees around Bruce’s hips. It only takes a well-timed jerk to have their positions switched, Jason throning triumphantly on Bruce’s hips until he realizes that B does not seem concerned at all.

In fact, his hand is still between Jason’s legs, thumb now idly and slowly brushing against his balls.

“No-one’s here to judge you, Jason. Just calm down. I promise you I’ll make it good for you.”

Jason bares his teeth like an animal.

“Your promises are empty to me.”

But god… it does feel nice; having Bruce patiently round his hole until it is so warm and tingly that Jason wants to actively try and spear himself on his fingers. Bruce smirks slightly, his icy eyes squinting with it. He never takes his gaze off of him.

“Just calm down. Let me take it from you.”

“...What are you talking about?” his tongue feels lethargic in his own mouth.

“Your virginity.”


	13. Endeavor/Hawks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endeavor/Hawks – kind of a cont/au of a fic I have written for another site; but can be read as a standalone – A/B/O; Omega!Endeavor; Alpha!Hawks; groping, perving; milk pump – Endeavor has had twins just a couple weeks ago. Hawks goes to pay him a visit at the agency. He runs in on Endeavor being juicy as per usual... Lot of groping and Hawks being a disgusting perv mmmh

“Mr. Number 2 hero! You can’t just- You can’t just go in there- MR. NUMBER 2 HERO!”

Endeavor’s personal secretary has sprung up from behind her desk and is running after Hawks, all but hanging off his arm as she pleads with him to stop.

“Please! This is not a good time! Endeavor asked _very_ specifically and _very_ emphatically not to be disturbed in the next hour!”

Hawks grins easily at her, spreading out his wings and curling one around her back. He can smell the distressed Omega from her and it’s not a nice scent at all.

“Shush. All’s good. We’re friends, you know? He won’t mind it one little bit. Don’t you worry.”

She keeps shaking her head energetically, lightly touching the cuff of his jacket.

“Please… He was very, _very_ clear about it, sir…”

They stop in front of the huge doors to Endeavor’s office. The Omega doesn’t do anything by half. His agency is just as huge as his ego. And his everything else. His heart rate spikes a little when he thinks again of the picture he saw just that moment. Endeavor in his hero suit; his first big appearance after the birth of his twins.

His milky tits obscenely stretching the material.

Goddamn. Hawks has been fucked from the very beginning. No other Omega could ever even hold a candle to _Endeavor-san_.

“I haven’t even made my appearances since the birth,” he drawls, trying to keep his voice steady. Thinking of Endeavor in labor always does… ah… things to him that he would not like to subject this poor lady to. “I got some mochi. He loves that stuff, doesn’t he? I bet any little temper he might get up with will be doused immediately.”

As he says it, he lifts a box of fresh mochi through the air. The secretary looks at it warily, but the warmth of his feathers against her back and his calm demeanor seems to assuage her concerns at least somewhat.

Her shoulders lower a little and she sighs so bone deep that Hawks is almost sorry for her.

“Could you come through his window next time? That way it’s not on me…”

He grins and takes his wing away from her.

“Sure thing!”

.o.

It’s not difficult to guess why Endeavor has wanted absolute and uninterrupted privacy; at least not when Hawks just opens the huge door and parades in to the number one hero on his couch, carefully wielding a breast pump while next to his huge desk a good few meters away Hawks can see the twin baby beds with the sleeping infants.

His blood boils immediately in his veins, hand almost going lax and letting the box drop to the ground when his attention snaps back to Endeavor with lazor focus, eyes on one clearly already milked nipple. It is obscenely swollen and dark, a round indentation in the flesh around it where the suction part of the pump has taken hold.

The room still smells overpoweringly of pregnant Omega. Hawks is getting whiplash from how quickly his body is getting up for a mating. Within seconds his libido skyrockets from ‘moderate low-level arousal’ to ‘unbearable horniness’.

Endeavor, meanwhile, is on the other spectrum. His face is slack with obvious shock as to the sudden intrusion, hands unmoving on the pump still pressed against his other teat. There already is one big jug of milk in front of him, and another one half full. They look comically large, but Hawks supposes, as he politely closes the door behind him, that the quantity had to be expected from an Omega as huge as the number one.

When Endeavor snaps out of his stupor, his face goes an alarming shade of red that rivals his hair. His neck starts swelling; he looks like the abuse he is about to rain down on Hawks will physically hurt even without a Quirk such as Present Mic’s.

Hawk’s eyes flick to the infants in their baby beds.

Endeavor’s gaze follows that immediately.

If possible, his face becomes an even darker shade of red, but he seems to be swallowing down whatever he had been prepared to scream at Hawks.

It’s… perfect. An opportunity like this is once in a lifetime and Hawks intents to utilize it _thoroughly_.

He is by Endeavor’s side in a moment, dropping the package with sweet rice cakes unceremoniously on the desk next to the already filled jug of milk, then is on the huge Omega.

He can hear Endeavor’s sharp inhale, but he seems to still be struggling with his volume so for the moment he is quiet and stunned as he is rudely pushed back by an Alpha that could a) be his son and b) be snapped in half over his knee.

Hawks forces his knee between the number 1’s thick thighs, hand grabbing the plump, already milked pec. He’s just fantasized about it _so damn often_ , there is no way he can’t grab it when given the chance. It is squishy, his fingers dimpling the skin. A lazy dribble of a bit of excess milk gathers at the plump tip.

Endeavor finally unfreezes. He pulls the suction device away from his other teat, hand moving down to next to the couch to turn off the pump, the other grabbing Hawks by the throat.

“What the _Hell_ do you think you’re doing?” he rasps in a whisper, voice vibrating with his anger. The huge Omega is radiating an astonishing amount of heat without outright breaking out into flames. Hawks is sweating like the worst kind of pervert.

His eyes have zeroed in on the newly freed nipple. It’s still wet.

“Just lay back and relax, Endeavor-san,” he croons. He pulls out of the grip of the meaty fingers and swoops to suck the fat nipple into his mouth. There’s a shudder going through Hawks from head to toes. The areola is as buttery soft and puffy against his tongue has he had dreamed it would be.

His cock is drooling in his pants but he is preoccupied with fondling Endeavor’s big milky tits and nudging his knee against his crotch. He can feel the heat there as well. Endeavor might not be as unhappy about this whole… _thing_ as he pretends to be.

Point in case: he groans suddenly, the noise sounding like it’s been ripped from him against his will. Hawks’ head snaps up from suckling sweet Omega milk. He presses his hand over Enji’s mouth, eyes briefly flicking to the baby beds.

“Nice and quiet now, Endeavor-san,” he whispers heatedly. “Don’t want to wake the twins, do you?”

Endeavor’s pale eyes flutter, his hips lightly arching up against the pressure of Hawks’ knee and thigh. It occurs to him that maybe… just maybe… Endeavor is pent up? Could he be so lucky?

Endeavor nods against his palm and when he takes his hand away, the Omega whispers heatedly: “I am going to kill you.”

“Later.”

“Yes. Later.”

And with that, he willingly opens his thighs for the molestation. He looks so hot with his shirt half-unbuttoned and his tits just out in the open. Hawks feels his balls surge and he has to scrabble to shove a hand down his pants to pull on them until he feels a bit nauseous but the immediate need to _come right now_ has receded.

There’s a whistling in his ears as he stares into Endeavor’s flushed and meanly smirking face. The Omega knows _exactly_ what just happened. Or would almost have happened.

Hawks, in retaliation, leans in and presses his face between the number 1’s pecs. It’s a dream he’s had for the longest fucking time.

If he is actually comatose in a hospital right now, he doesn’t want to know.

And he doesn’t want to wake up.


	14. Reinhardt/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt/Soldier – consensual cheating; established Reaper/Soldier; talon!Reinhardt; feminization; dirty talk – Jack finally puts out. Or is made to put out.
> 
> Prequel: B22F12

Reinhardt’s large hands keep squeezing Jack’s ass until he feels bruised. The old geezer seems to know exactly what he’s doing: he digs his fingers into the worst spots, making the dull ache flare into a brighter pain that has spots dance in front of Jack’s eyes, his fingers trembling as he clutches harder at the bookshelf.

“I wonder at what street corner Reaper picked you up,” Reinhardt muses, his voice gone intimately low; as if he were a lover crooning sweet nothings. His cock sandwiched between Jack’s cheeks is still dragging against his skin nice and slow and getting his hole hot and tingling. It makes it difficult to focus on the abuse he is idly spewing, and makes Jack feel… well. Like a bimbo; just vaguely whining in protest while his cock is hanging between his thighs, heavy and fat and slowly flexing as his whole being waits to finally get filled.

“Not that talkative now, are you? I wonder why…”

Suddenly, that fat cock moves back and back and further back. Jack can feel the ridge of the crown dragging against his tailbone and down the crack of his ass until the wide tip catches on his hole. His dry, unprepared hole. The spit from before has practically vanished into nothing by now. Jack’s breath hitches, his jaw hanging open as his brain stalls like an old engine before too many thoughts run through his head.

There’s a bit of pressure now – as if Reinhardt is actually thinking about carving his way into Jack’s body cock first – and that gets him babbling like a lemur.

“No! Fuck! No way, s-stop! That’s not part of the n-negotiations!”

Reinhardt’s massive hand slams back down between Jack’s shoulder blades, knocking the wind out of him and pushing him back down into a bend-over position.

“What do you know about our negotiations?” Reinhardt asks with an amused lilt to his voice. “Do you honestly believe there have even _been_ negotiations?”

His bull cock keeps up the steady pressure but for the moment he at least doesn’t seem intent on pushing in. When it becomes clear that Jack is not trying to stand up again, he reaches down and cups his balls, playing with them as if they are a pair of marbles.

“Your stud has given you away without much of a backward glance. He doesn’t have the money to pay his dues, so his used-up slut of a toy has to stand in for him. It’s quite simple, yes?”

The fat cock moves away. In its stead, Jack gets a thumb pressing against his hole and steadily, ruthlessly burying its way inside his body. His breath hitches, tears immediately springing to his eyes, but _God_ , if the treatment doesn’t get him so damn hard…

It’s not like he isn’t used to the rough treatment. It’s not like he doesn’t _yearn_ for it. He wouldn’t have gotten involved with Gabriel if he hadn’t been looking for a cock that not only _can_ dish out some abuse, but also _will_ do it.

Reinhardt is a whole different beast altogether, though… while Jack is reasonably sure that he won’t hurt him… permanently… he is not _absolutely_ sure, and that sliver of doubt is having his heart pound fast and his nipples go painfully tight against the stupid little maid costume he had been required to wear.

He can’t believe Gabriel would just whore him out like he has done. He can’t believe how goddamn hot it gets him. He’s always fancied himself as a guy with eclectic tastes, but it turns out he’s just another run of the mill whore…

Reinhardt isn’t brutal about spreading his hole but he sure as hell isn’t patient about it, either. The heat radiating off of the old man is almost tangible. He can’t believe how big and hard that cock had felt. That a man in Reinhardt’s age is even able to-

“Hold yourself open.”

“W...what?”

“Pay attention, meine kleine Hure. I need both my hands. If you can’t at least clean properly, make yourself useful and spread your cheeks open. Show me how much you want it…”

Jack doesn’t think he can coordinate reaching back and grabbing himself while also staying bend forward as he is, but Reinhardt takes that decision off of him with efficient ruthlessness.

His arms are grabbed and pulled back despite his cry of protest. The high heels he had been made to wear are hell on his feet. He stumbles like a fawn, trying to keep his balance while also blindly grabbing for his ass.

“I hope your cunt is as good as my dear friend made it out to be. He definitely doesn’t keep you around for your _brains_ , yes?”

Reinhardt’s taunting, delivered in such a nice, grandfatherly voice is seemingly bypassing Jack’s brain and going straight to his cock.

He doesn’t know what happens. Everything is mushy. There are slick fingers – _fat_ fingers – rudely pulling at the edges of his hole, trying to force it into submission. There’s one sliding in deep, a thick knuckle grinding so hard against his prostate that he’s seeing stars.

There’s one moment where he’s sure that Reinhardt tries to lift him off his feet just by the two fingers he has hooked into him, coarsely tugging against the swollen, tingling rim.

Jack is staring down on the ground, wondering what the liquid is shimmering there and realizing dully that he is drooling, tongue hanging out while his body is aching all over and his cock is ready to shoot off.

His balls feel as if they had to be swollen to twice their size. His thighs are killing him…

And then Reinhardt gives him his cock. Jack has never been able to catch a glimpse of it but from the feel of the tip trying to brute force its way inside, he must have a cock like a horse.

Jack is groaning low; he must have for a while now because Reinhardt laughs like it’s the best joke he’s heard all day. His huge hands slap Jack’s away and take over grabbing his bruised cheeks and holding them apart while he somehow tries to fit the monster inside Jack’s belly. He is pretty sure it won’t fit. Not without seriously rearranging his insides.

Part of him really wants Gabriel to be here… to at least hold his hand while he is getting his hole stretched beyond its limits-

“None of that now. You’re in good hands with me. You love getting your cunt spread, don’t you? I bet if I were to reach around I could find you rock hard and wet for me…”

He must have said Gabriel’s name out loud. He hadn’t even been aware-

“Little girls like you need it like this,” Reinhardt says conversationally, voice lifted over Jack’s groan as it gets louder the deeper he presses his cock into him. “They want someone to take the reigns. Show them how its done. Make them understand that it is not their _choice_ but their _duty_ to submit and receive cock.”

Jack’s whole being tingles, his hands, desperately clenched around whatever he can find purchase on, trembling. Reinhardt’s crude words ricochet around his head, the pressure mounting the more the brute is trying to fuck him on the full length of his dick-

And then the bubble bursts. Jack becomes quiet, spots dancing in front of his eyes as he comes, shooting his load in hot bursts onto the ground like a horse taking a piss.

Reinhardt is laughing at him, his huge hand slapping Jack’s bruised cheek. He knows he won’t be able to sit for days. Weeks, maybe.

“I will enjoy having you more often from now on. Your owner is notoriously bad at paying up, after all. I am sure he will be happy to have you pick up his slack.”


	15. Endeavor/Shoto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endeavor/Shoto – Todorokicest; sweat kink; face sitting – Shoto, confronted with his father’s lewd body, does what we all would do.

Just a scant few years ago, Shoto would have seethed with quiet rage when his father does not come on his own to lunch but makes him go fetch him for it. At least it had always felt like he was being made to do it.

Now, a few years into actually being a full-fledged hero, Shoto just feels indifference towards it. He also knows that training can be something _more_ than just training. It can be… meditative. It’s not unusual to simply lose track of time.

They are alone in the mansion at this time of day. Fuyumi is working and Natsuo is studying; that leaves him on his day off to take care of the meals and corrall his father into actually eating them instead of burying himself in work.

He can hear the grunts of exertion a few steps away from the actual training room. Endeavor had been at it for a good three hours now; it doesn’t surprise him in the least that his father would be this worked up.

When he unceremoniously opens the door, a wave of steam hits him in the face. The room is hot as a sauna; not uncommon when either his father or he are using it. They tend to run inhumanly hot when exerting themselves, after all.

Endeavor is sitting straddling the weight bench, his back to Shoto as he slowly pumps some dumbbells and keeps a close eye on his own form in the mirror to make sure he is not slacking.

It’s the last normal thing Shoto notices in the room.

The next is that his father is naked, his clothes strewn about the premises like a trail, showing off the path he has taken as he got hotter and hotter and needed to alleviate it somehow…

No… No, he is not _naked_. He is wearing something.

 _A jockstrap_ , Shoto’s stalling brain is supplying him while he stares at his father’s fat ass and the tiny strips of fabric visible beneath the globes, almost… lifting them up further.

In the reflection of the mirror he can see the whole… extent of it all. The little fabric cup struggling to encase his father’s meaty cock. The base of it is clearly visible. His father’s cock. He’s staring at Endeavor’s – his _father’s_ – dick… and he has to swallow compulsively so he wouldn’t start to drool suddenly. His hand curls tighter around the doorknob, knuckles going white.

Enji’s clear, blue eyes suddenly snap to him in the mirror. He grunts softly when he sees Shoto’s pale face.

“Got too hot,” he explains without remorse, thinking that is what has Shoto frozen to the spot – and not the sight of his bulging muscles and meaty cock. Shit… Shit, fuck, he can even see the edges of Endeavor’s ballsac wanting to spill out of the jock. Why is it so goddamn _small_?!

“Lunch is ready, I assume?” Enji continues gruffly, unbothered by Shoto’s non-reply. While Shoto has been a lot less hostile toward him the past couple years, their relationship still isn’t necessarily _good_. “I will be there shortly.”

And with that, Enji leans forward to put the dumbbell on the ground, giving his son the most damning, tantalizing glimpse of his fat cheeks spreading apart and showing off his hole; the rim looking thick like the rest of his father’s body; just butter soft and inviting.

Shoto must have had a stroke or something. He blacks out for a split second. When his brain onlines again, he is pressed against his father’s back, grabbing hands full of his fat ass, squeezing the cheeks and pressing them together before ripping them apart again.

Enji grunts in surprise, bracing himself on the bench. His shocked eyes search for those of his son in the mirror.

“Shoto…?!” he exhales, sounding about as shocked as he looks like as he gets suddenly molested by his youngest.

Shoto’s fingers move, rubbing against that pouty asshole he had glimpsed just now. The wrinkled skin feels incredibly soft and damp with sweat. Saliva floods his mouth again as he thinks about how sweaty the rest of Endeavor’s package had to be…

“Sit on my face.”

Enji blinks slowly. He doesn’t understand, obviously; Shoto doesn’t think Endeavor fucked a single time without the lights being turned off and in strict missionary. It occurs to him dully that he has thought about this before already. When he fucked his fist and let his thoughts wander. How his father turned up more often than he’d liked to admit. So often, in fact, that he has made it a habit to forcefully suppress.

He wriggles one fingertip into Endeavor’s hole, watching his father’s face go slack as he circles just behind the muscle, feeling how hot and silky he is there as well.

The jockstrap is bulging. Enji _wants_ it. They start to scramble around, almost fighting as Shoto has to shove his father’s thick body around so he can lie down on the bench. Enji might have never done this before but it’s not difficult to figure out how to sit on another’s face.

Before Shoto knows it, Endeavor is straddling his head and starting to lower himself onto him. Part of him wonders about how easy it had been to convince him to do it. Could it be that his father also has had secret, filthy thoughts…?

It doesn’t matter. Not when his face is engulfed in humid heat, his mouth pressing automatically in a smacking kiss against his father’s sweaty asshole. He tongues it without hesitation, dragging over the silky, wrinkled skin and rounding the pouty entrance again and again while he dully hears his father sigh above him. On his chest is the weight of his package. Shoto fumbles for it, hooking his fingers into the jockstrap and pulling it to the side, letting its ill-concealed contents finally spill out.

He can’t wrap his head around the sheer size of his father’s nuts; the meaty hang of his foreskin. He can pinch it between his fingers and pull on it until Enji groans and starts to move his hips; rubbing his fat ass over his son’s face more and more enthusiastically until finally Shoto is able to suck on one of the fever hot testicles.

Shoto is delirious. He can’t remember having breathed in minutes. His nostrils feel clogged with the thick scent of his father’s sweaty cock and balls; is mouth occupied with getting everything wet and slick with saliva.

He has his hands around Enji’s cock as if to strangle it. There’s barely a rhythm to what he is doing, just frantically moving and squeezing as he licks whatever he can get in front of his mouth: the heavy sac, the sweaty taint, the fragrant crease between the two of them… and again and again Enji’s hole which has gone butter soft at this point, letting Shoto spear his tongue in.

He’s so damn hard… so goddamn… hard… it aches in his pants, pulsing and wetting at the tip. Endeavor is not helping him out any, of course. He is bracing himself on the edges of the bench, just trying not to collapse as he gets frantically serviced by his youngest.

It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. When Shoto feels the fat cock in his stranglehold start to pulse just seconds before exploding in thick hot ribbons of cum splashing onto his white shirt, his own balls jerk as if in sympathy.

He comes without a hand on his dick, shooting into his own underwear while being suffocated in his father’s ass.

Who… who would have known that Enji is good for something after all?


End file.
